by Jayne Faith
“Evan is definitely still there,” he said. “That’s the good news.”
“And the bad?”
“There are a lot of vamps there. More than a dozen. And the lead vamp appears stronger than I expected,” he said. He planted his hands loosely on his hips and blew out a breath.
A hint of a shiver ran over my scalp and down my spine. My hands curled into fists, and I crossed my arms, tucking my hands under my elbows.
“All rogue vamps are dangerous,” he said. “But this one is really strong. He must be one of the older VAMP2 rogues, one of the first created at the Manhattan Rip. Honestly, I’d hoped the vamps would all be weak, and thought maybe I could just bust in there and make off with your brother. They could mess me up, but they can’t kill me. I figured I’d heal.”
I couldn’t help a tiny smile in reaction to his side plan to be the hero. And I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard him say so many words at once.
“But then when I caught sight of the head honcho and how many there were total,” Rogan continued. “I figured it wasn’t the best idea to go in there alone.”
“Evan is okay, though?” I asked. “Relatively speaking, I mean.”
“He’s alive. He’s drugged and emaciated but in decent shape all things considered.”
My breath seemed to leave me, and I sank down to the cracked leather cushion of the only chair in the room. Propping my elbows on my knees, I held my head for a moment. Evan was alive, and I knew where he was. I had actual confirmation.
I heard the rustle of Rogan’s coat as he moved closer.
“Ella?” The concern in his voice was clear.
“Sorry, it’s just been a really long road to this moment,” I said, finally looking up. “Thank you for doing that. For going clear out there. I owe you.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to return the favor someday,” he said.
I squinted up at him as a vague unease swept through me like a cold sweep of winter air. The word “favor” triggered the ugly memory of trying to resist as Lynnette forced me to join her coven. But I didn’t think Rogan had anything that nefarious in mind. He wasn’t a manipulator like Lynnette.
“Why did you do it, anyway?” I asked.
He ran his hand over his short, dark hair, ruffling the already random spikes that seemed to point every which way of their own accord. His hand hooked around the back of his neck, settling there, and his eyes flitted off to the side.
“I’m still hoping you’ll be the solution to my . . . problem,” he finally said.
“Your I-want-to-kill-off-this-body-and-return to-the-in-between problem?”
He nodded, looking even more ill at ease. “I think you’re going to be the only one who can help me.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why me?”
He pulled in his bottom lip, biting down on it for a second. “I was told to look for someone, a person who would be the key to what I want, and you fit the description. You’re not exactly what I . . . expected. But I still think you’re the one.”
“Well, that’s fricking morbid.” I slapped my hands against my thighs and then stood. For some reason it pissed me off that he was bringing this up. And I hated that he still thought I was going to figure out how to kill him, or somehow help him do it.
“Topic change,” I said. “I need to find a way to hold off my reaper. I’ve got to get these damned rings off my fingers so I can use my magic and rescue Evan. And I think you’re the solution to my problem.”
His brows rose the tiniest bit, and I could tell he was interested in the challenge. Or maybe interested in my belief that he was the key to getting my magic back. I was relieved to move on from the topic of Rogan’s death—or rebirth to his own world, as he probably saw it—and the pinch of worry in my gut lessened a little.
He stood a little taller and pursed his lips for a moment. “I have a friend we should talk to. A very powerful friend. Are you up for a little trip?”
“My schedule’s pretty open these days, so the timing is definitely right.” I gave a wry laugh. “Where do we find this almighty contact of yours?”
I noticed Loki still sitting like a big, dark, furry statue and snapped my fingers. He trotted over to me, sat again, and resumed his unblinking observation of Rogan.
“Just north of here, it turns out,” he said. “Want to take a trip with me tomorrow?”
Before Rogan finished speaking, the front door swung open. I was expecting Deb, but Johnny Beemer stood in the doorway instead.
He looked back and forth between me and Rogan. I stared wide-eyed at Johnny, off-balance at his sudden appearance and the way he’d just walked right in. Why hadn’t he knocked?
“Johnny, I wasn’t expecting you,” I said. I moved toward him, not really liking the sour turn of his expressive mouth. I took his hand, pulling him into the center of the room. “Rogan, this is Johnny Beemer. Johnny, Rogan.”
“Hi.” Johnny offered his hand, but I thought I saw his eyes narrow.
Rogan nodded and shook Johnny’s hand.
“Did we have plans?” I asked. “I’m sorry if it slipped my mind. It’s been a hell of a couple of days.”
“I thought you might be able to use a distraction and wanted to take you to dinner,” Johnny said. His jaw muscles flexed. “Unless you have other plans?”
I frowned at his implication.
“Sure, dinner sounds good,” I said. Actually, it didn’t sound all that great. Not unless Johnny’s mood chilled out. But anything was better than the awkwardness of standing there with the two of them.
“I’ll be in touch.” Rogan gave us a nod, strode to the door, and let himself out.
As soon as we were alone, I turned to Johnny, my hands on my hips. “You could have been a little friendlier.”
“Whoa, I just met the guy.” He lifted his hands and gave me a look of wide-eyed innocence.
Maybe I was overreacting. I shoved my fingers into my hair. “Sorry. You just surprised me, busting in here without any warning.”
“Why would you need a warning?” Johnny’s voice was mild, but his eyes glinted. “Because you’re planning to go somewhere with that guy?”
I folded my arms. So he’d heard what Rogan said and was already jumping to some conclusion.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. He’s trying to help me.”
Johnny made an irritated growl deep in his throat and looked at the ceiling before meeting my eyes again.
“Ella, if you’d just let someone exorcise the reaper in the first place like I suggested, you wouldn’t be in this position,” he said. “You wouldn’t have to rely on someone you don’t know. What makes you so sure you can trust him, anyway?”
I threw my hands up in the air as anger surged through me. “We don’t even know if it’s possible to exorcise a reaper! It might kill me to try it. And as a matter of fact, Rogan is helping me with Evan. Rogan just got back from Nevada, where he confirmed my brother’s location. Rogan has never given me a reason to not trust him. I’m not a complete idiot, you know. I’m capable of judging someone’s character and intentions.”
That really seemed to piss him off.
“You don’t seem to see that I’ve been trying to help you all along,” he said, not really angry but almost pleading. “But you never listen. You always go off and do whatever impulsive thing pops into your mind. It’s only gotten you in deeper trouble.”
His tone was softer, and I knew he was trying to make me see his side, but his words just came off like a thinly veiled I-told-you-so. And worse, this felt like a continuation of the same push and pull that had been going on for weeks. Maybe since the start. His disapproval of my choices and the patronizing tone he often took, however well meaning he was, just grated more and more.
I crossed my arms again, giving him a cool stare even as resentment simmered in my veins. “Maybe your help just isn’t the type of help I need.”
As soon as I said it, I knew I’d gone a little too far. But I didn’t entirely regret it.
>
His eyes widened and then narrowed. “Point taken.”
He turned on his heel and marched out the front door, pushing it shut behind him. It closed hard. Not a slam, but with enough force to rattle the front bay window.
I shoved my fingers into my hair and pulled. I turned to Loki, who was cowering around the side of the sofa, peeking at me.
“Why does he have to be so disapproving?” I asked my dog.
He blinked at me and then lay down, resting his head on his paws.
The door opened again, and I just about jumped out of my skin.
“Oh, it’s you,” I said with a rush of relief when I realized it was Deb.
She gave me an alarmed look. “I saw Johnny drive away. He looked like a walking frowny emoji.”
“We just had a fight,” I said dully. My adrenaline was starting to fade, and my head felt thick with the threat of a headache.
“Oh, no. How bad?”
“Not bad enough to end it,” I said. “But pretty bad. He walked in right as Rogan asked me to take a day trip with him. But it was weird. Johnny just came on in without ringing the bell or anything. It was like he was already primed to be ticked off.”
“I missed Rogan?” Deb asked, looking back at the front door as if he might reappear for her benefit. She snapped her fingers. “Damn. He’s such a mystery man. Wait, what trip?”
I quickly recounted my conversation with Rogan for her and then gave her the play-by-play of my argument with Johnny.
“Johnny’s probably just mad ‘cause Rogan’s encroaching on the hero role,” she said. “Johnny wants to be the hero in your life.”
I wrinkled my nose and started to protest but then remembered my internal reaction when Rogan had told me he’d hoped to gallop away from the vampire den with Evan. Maybe there was something to Deb’s theory.
“Oh also, Damien and I are starting a company,” I said.
She giggled and flopped down on the sofa, her hands automatically moving to rest on her lower belly. “This had to be his idea.”
“How’d you know?” I gave her a wry arch of one brow.
“Um, because it would never occur to you,” she said.
I laughed. “That was kind of a rhetorical question. But now that I think about it, Damien isn’t usually so impulsive.”
“What do you mean?”
“He quit Demon Patrol last night. As he told it, he went home after his shift and started thinking about it, and a couple of hours later handed in his notice.”
She tilted her head and stared off to the side. “That is a little odd. If he weren’t gay, I’d say he has a fixation with you.” She focused on me. “Although a fixation doesn’t have to be romantic.”
“There’s no fixation,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Don’t make this weird, Deb. He’s a trust fund baby, and he can afford to walk away from a steady paycheck. He was bored with Demon Patrol, and this was an excuse to move on.”
She gave a little shrug of one shoulder. “Maybe . . . I guess.”
I shook my head, dismissing the doubtful look on her face. “The only thing that really matters right now is that we start bringing in clients,” I said.
“Clients? What business are you guys in, exactly?”
“Magical services,” I said, waving my hands around to indicate I fully realized how vague that sounded. “He said he wants to get the business off the ground with some Supernatural Crimes contracts.”
“You do know people there, but . . .” She looked pointedly at the charmed ring on my left index finger.
I curled my hands into loose fists and folded my arms, tucking my hands under my elbows. “Yeah, exactly. I’m not much use without my magic. Don’t worry. I’ll get it figured out soon. And in the meantime Damien and I will get things up and running, and with any luck we’ll have a contract before the end of the month.”
Before my last Demon Patrol paycheck ran out, I hoped.
“Hey, doesn’t Johnny contract with SC all the time? Is he going to see you and Damien as competition?” Deb asked.
“Nah, he shouldn’t. We’ll be offering completely different services, since he doesn’t do magic and we don’t have his fancy gadgets.”
“The services actually might complement each other really nicely,” she said. “You might suggest it to him, see if he can help you get some jobs.”
I heaved a sigh. “At this point, Damien would probably have a better chance sweet-talking him into that than I would.”
She gave me a sly smile. “Aw, come on. Use your feminine wiles.”
“So, pushup bra and bat my eyelashes a lot?” I asked sarcastically.
“No, you’re way too flat-chested for a pushup bra to be any help. You’ll just have to flutter those eyelashes really hard,” she said, her face perfectly serious.
I picked up a sofa pillow and chucked it at her, and she punched it away with a giggle.
Before I went to bed, I texted Rogan.
Sorry about what happened earlier. Johnny acted like kind of an ass.
A moment later, he responded.
Don’t give it a second thought. Still up for a journey north tomorrow? We’ll make it back tomorrow night.
It was probably going to piss off Johnny even more, but I certainly wasn’t going to let him stop me from going with Rogan.
Yep, I’m game.
I’ll come for you at 7. Bring hiking boots and a warm coat.
My pulse bumped in anticipation.
I’ll be ready.
Chapter 7
WHEN I WENT out to Rogan’s Jeep the next morning, it was still dark enough for the streetlights to be illuminated.
“I think we should bring your dog,” he said when I opened the passenger door.
“Loki? Why’s that?”
“I think Switchboard will find him interesting.”
I shot him a skeptical look out of the corners of my eyes. His face had healed already, leaving no sign of the scrapes he’d sustained when he went through the drainage tunnel at the vampire compound.
He gave a short laugh. “Trust me. Bring the hellhound.”
I went back in and put Loki on his leash. Probably expecting a walk, he started wagging so hard his entire backside swayed from side to side. He looked up at me with tongue-out doggy joy as I took him out the front door to the Jeep.
With Loki standing in the back seat poking his head forward between us, we were off. He didn’t seem bothered by Rogan this morning, but maybe his excitement about getting out of the apartment was enough to overcome his former caution.
“So where are we headed, exactly?” I asked.
“Not far from McCall,” he said, naming a small mountain town situated on a natural glacial lake about a two-hour drive from Boise.
“And this Switchboard guy? Tell me about him.”
“He’s kind of a strange old coot. Lives alone in a cabin in the woods,” he said.
“What kind of name is Switchboard?”
Rogan glanced at me and grinned. “It’s kind of a joke, really. He has powers of telepathy. I think it’s part of the reason he has to isolate himself. In a populated area it’s too overwhelming to be surrounded by thousands of minds.”
I watched him as he spoke. He seemed more and more at ease with me as time went on.
“I just hope he has some answers for me,” I said. “Or knows someone who will. It’s driving me bat-shit crazy to be this way.” I held my hands up, looking at the charmed rings on my fingers.
I hated to feel useless almost as much as I hated being obligated to other people.
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll have some sort of insight,” Rogan said. He eased to a stop at a red light and looked over at me. “It may not be exactly what you want to hear, though, so don’t let your expectations run wild. And sometimes he likes to test people, make them jump through some hoops for his amusement.”
“Sounds a little sociopathic,” I said.
“He’s not a bad person, just eccentric.”
W
e were silent for a few minutes as he navigated the morning commute traffic on State Street, heading toward the turnoff for Highway 55. Loki had abandoned his excited vigil and lay curled up on the backseat.
Realizing that I had Rogan captive for the next couple of hours, I began queuing up questions in my mind.
“You once mentioned that Rogan, the original Rogan I mean, was a mage,” I said. “I haven’t seen you do mage-level magic, though.”
His jaw tightened before he answered. “I don’t use high-level magic often. It draws too much attention. I’m wearing someone else’s face, and if anyone were to recognize it, there would be questions I couldn’t answer. Like why I haven’t aged in the past several decades.”
“Odds are pretty slim that anyone would recognize you at this point, though, right?”
“Probably,” he conceded. “But I’m also cautious with the magic because I have power but very little skill. Only what I was able to glean before I, uh, assumed complete control of this body. Mage-level magic in the hands of a novice is like a revolver in the hands of a child. He might know it’s dangerous and have rudimentary understanding of how to use the thing, but he could accidentally kill himself or someone else.”
I nodded. “Good analogy.”
Something dawned on me, and I shifted in my seat so I could partially face him. “You’re the most powerful crafter I know. It just hit me. I always think of Damien, but he’s not a mage. Technically, you are. You’re also a necromancer. And a reaper.”
His eyes shifted to me and then away. “Yes, all of that is true.”
“You’re a valuable commodity,” I said. “Deb explained it to me before. People with rare configurations of powers are sought after. She made it sound like I’d be headhunted or something. That hasn’t happened yet, but probably only because my skills are pretty meager and also aren’t widely known.”
“Another reason to stay under the radar.”
“Yeah, but seriously, you’re like . . . a really powerful version of me.” I chewed my lip for a few seconds, trying to wrap my mind around that thought. “Can you channel the ley line magic from the in-between, too?”